


Let the Heart Win

by Tirlaeyn



Series: To Be Without Regret [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode Fix-it, Episode: s03e07 Digestivo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 00:41:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13329858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tirlaeyn/pseuds/Tirlaeyn
Summary: Digestivo Fix-it: Will weighs his fears against the ache in his heart.





	Let the Heart Win

Or.

As late afternoon sun filters through the windows, the first strands of awareness tug at Will's limbs and eyelids. His first instinct is to hide from it, burrow down deep into the blankets and block out the world. 

Halfway through the act of turning over and curling up, he freezes. Memories of the past few days flood Will's mind, particularly his last truly conscious memory of being strapped to a table and prepped for surgery and death. Will remains still, keeping his breathing quiet and even. This is clearly his bed in his house in Wolf Trap, which means he was rescued from the Verger Estate. He can smell dogs, blood, and mustiness, and he can hear two extra sets of lungs breathing. 

Suddenly, he feels a wet nose press against his cheek and a paw on his shoulder. Will opens his eyes, and there, like a miracle, is Winston. 

“Good boy Winston,” Will whispers. “How did you get here? I'm so glad to see you.” 

Will scratches Winston behind the ears while Winston tries to lick his face. He wraps his arms around him and buries his face in warm soft fur. This is what he has been missing, the soothing, grounding, non judgemental presence of his dogs. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. 

There's still the matter of the other set of lungs, the other presence, in the room. Will releases Winston, and searches with his eyes. He finds Hannibal, still wearing his boots and wrapped in a blood-soaked coat, sitting in a chair next to the bed, fast asleep. There's more blood in his hair and on his face and hands, and it's impossible to determine how much of it is his. His face is soft in sleep, hair falling over his eyes gently. Will has the strongest urge to brush it back and run his fingers through it, to get him out of these dirty clothes, and clean him up, make him look more like Hannibal and less like this exhausted, defeated creature in the chair. 

Will flashes back to the only other time he has seen Hannibal asleep, walking into Abigail's hospital room to find him there holding her hand. All of their fates were already sealed in that moment, though they didn't know it. Back then, Will had wanted to warn Hannibal away, to protect him from the violence and darkness that haunted his life. Now, Will sees the truth of him, far removed from the image he projected so expertly back then.

Winston whines for attention and the bed creaks as Will shifts his weight to sit up. Hannibal's whole body tightens, and he's awake in an instant. He sees that Will is awake and smiles, but with tired eyes and pain in the lines around his mouth.

“Do we talk about teacups and time and the rules of disorder?” Hannibal finally asks, his voice rough from sleep.

Will sighs. He would be happy to never see another teacup in his life.

“The teacup is broken. It'll never gather itself back together again.”

“Not even in your mind?”

A glare is Will's only response. As if repairing regrets and failings is just that easy. Going backwards isn't the answer. 

“Your memory palace is building,” Hannibal continues. “It's full of new things. It shares some rooms with my own. I've discovered you there. Victorious.”

Victorious. Will knows what Hannibal sees. Ten gunshots and glasses splattered with blood. A broken window, a broken man, and bloody aching hands. Bitter meat and ginger. The lingering taste of Cordell's blood in his mouth. 

Will runs his fingers through Winston's fur. 

“Victory is the lives I've saved, not the ones I've taken. I don't share your appetite, Hannibal.”

“The blood in your mouth begs to differ. Do you count me among your lives saved, Will? You convinced Alana to cut me loose. Would it not have saved more lives to let Mason kill me?”

“When you save a tiger from a poacher’s trap, you can't worry about the deer it will kill afterward. Mason was unworthy of your death.”

“Is it the quality of the lives that matters?”

“Your life matters.” Will raises his eyes to meet Hannibal's. “I couldn't abide the thought of you tortured. I couldn't let you die. But I'm not your imago, Hannibal. I can't be who you want me to be.”

“Will. You are more than I could have ever hoped for. I only want you to embrace your whole self. I want all of you.”

The words sink deep into Will's heart. The love he sees in Hannibal's eyes, when he allows himself to look, tears at his resolve. They sit in silence as around them the house darkens, meager winter sunlight fading fast into gloom. Will weighs Hannibal's words in his mind and searches for the truth. He balances his fears against the ache of loneliness, against his heart that yearns for the life Hannibal offers. 

Finally, Will stands and stretches a hand out to Hannibal. 

“We should go.”

Hannibal looks from Will's hand to his face and back. He takes what is offered with reverence and slowly stands.

“Are you sure, Will?”

“I am sure when I look at you and just has sure of the opposite when I look away. But I want to try.”

Hannibal places a hand on Will's cheek. It's cold and smells like blood and cheap soap, but Will can't help leaning into the touch. 

“Then I must endeavour to hold your gaze always.”

They walk out of the house together still holding hands with Winston at their heels. The road ahead is dark, but they are together. Perhaps, that is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on tumblr @diea-kierlyn or on twitter @tirlaeyn.


End file.
